The Last Robin
Lyrics and Sonnets

by Ethelwyn Wetherald



IN the room where I was sleeping
     The sun came to the floor,
Whose silent thought went leaping
     To where in woods of yore
     It felt the sun before.

At noon the rain was slanting
     In gray lines from the west;
A hurried child all panting
     It pattered to my nest
     And smiled when sun-carest.

At eve the wind was flying
     Bird-like from bed to chair;
Of brown leaves sere and dying
     It brought enough to spare,
     And dropped them here and there.

At night-time, without warning,
     I felt almost to pain
The soul of the sun in the morning,
     The soul of the wind and the rain,
     In my sleeping-room remain. [Page 79]